


Deafening hatred

by RandomCrytic



Series: When you decide to date an alien [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst, Awkward Crush, Broken PAK (Invader Zim), Enemies to Friends, Eventual Romance, M/M, Mental Instability, Unrequited Love, Xenophiliac Dib (Invader Zim), Zim has no chill button to press, Zim is Defective (Invader Zim)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27477439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomCrytic/pseuds/RandomCrytic
Summary: Dib thinks about how to confess to Zim without actually saying the words. Once he gets to that point however, a whole other issue steals all of his attention.
Relationships: ZaDr - Relationship
Series: When you decide to date an alien [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013577
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	1. When things work out

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a much better version of 'I hate you', a fic that I wrote almost two years ago.  
> Also WOW rewriting things takes a lot more time and effort than starting from scratch for some reason.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't at all graphic, but if you are iffy about panic attack-esk things then maybe you should skip to the end notes after the '****' mark. I will briefly summarize what happens there.

If someone would have told teenage Dib that he is fated to fall for his childhood enemy who wants to destroy Earth and enslave all of humanity; even he, the crazy kid, would have called them insane after laughing in their face.

But sure enough, he and Zim grew pretty damn close in high school. Certainly closer than Dib ever managed to get with anybody of his own species. It was laughably easy to sort of tumble their way into gray grounds once Dib realized that the so-called invader was too incompetent to take over Earth for real. He had managed to conquer the neighborhood with his impeccable disguise (something that still baffles Dib to this day), but that was pretty much it. His genius became limited to stealing electricity from his neighbors and occasionally using people for experiments.

Around the same time when Dib began working on calming down his compulsive need to know everything about the alien, Zim began coming up with his own conclusions as to how he felt about their growing connections. Dib still has no clue as to what those conclusions might have been about, but they all probably went along the lines of how Dib is at the very least no longer a threat to his operation. Not having to worry if a so-called 'friend' is going to spontaneously stab you in the back does wonders for building trust in a relationship. Dib will always remember the feeling he got when he had first noticed a shred of admiration mixed in that hateful look in Zim's eyes. Like he was slowly, but surely warming up to the idea of their company becoming a much more common thing.

Now that school is a closed page of his life however, and Dib became a semi-responsible adult with a stable job and his hormones aren't going all over the place to distract his rationality; he feels pretty confident when he says that he experiences emotions far more complex than your ordinary tolerance towards his arch-enemy.  
It should concern him that he is feeling such strong pulls towards someone who may or may not decide to probe him one day. Zim is an Irken invader after all; the deadliest, nastiest, most hated race in the entire universe. That is a good reason reason as to why he should be at least mildly worried about pressing random buttons in the little guy's nerves. But he isn't, and never was. If anything, that probability of danger only serves to attract him more, like toxoplasmosis attracts rats straight into a cat's mouth.

He tried frequently to get Zim a gift that would portray how he feels, or ask Zim to hang out directly. But every single time Zim would find new and creative ways to tell him to fuck off. Each method proved to be deadlier than the last.

(His ass still hurts from last time, where the hidden lasers in the bushes next to Zim’s front porch have managed to hit him.)

Dib is stuck not knowing what would get Zim to surrender to his flirting skills, because apparently he wasn't born with the same talent to effortlessly woo anyone with his looks and brains like his dad.

Regardless of his repeated failure, attempt fifty-nine is happening today, whether he is prepared for it or not.

He is sitting on his bed in his cramped room, which is overflowing with gadgets ranging from a simple phone to overly complex computers, his mind preoccupied by that one photo of Zim he managed to take when he was sixteen. God, how long has it been since he had last seen him? A couple of weeks? A month? Sure as hell feels longer. The polygraph photo sits in his hand like it belongs there, generously offering a clear image of Zim’s gigantic eyeballs captured in the moment they shot a look at the camera. They're hypnotizing to look at; the ruby-like shine giving his entire appearance a more exotic, slightly cursed look. Sadly, it is hard to make out anything else on the picture because Zim was already in the process of moving.

(Or maybe his camera was just shit at the time.)

Dib made it a habit to consult the picture whenever he has troubles in his daily life. It helps to remind him of what he could have right in front of him, close enough to touch, if and only _if_ he works hard enough to get it.  
Yes, Dib realizes that would be considered creepy if an another human would switch places with Zim, but after years of stalking his green ass with about twenty different spy equipment sets he custom-crafted for explicitly that purpose, Dib thinks it is far too late to turn a new leaf.

He sighs, puts the picture down and thinks carefully about his options. What he has to offer and what he has to gain out of courting an out-of-this-world murderer, more or less. Of course, his mind comes up with blanks as per usual, forcing him to put too much effort into over thinking so he can mope when he finally won’t have any energy left for the actual execution of the plan. He vocalizes his frustrations into the illegally fluffy pillow he stole out of the not-so-hidden above ground parts of Zim's base years ago. The scent it emits is disgusting, like Zim intentionally dunked it in a bag full of skunks, but Dib never had the heart to wash all of Zim's traces from it. Maybe if he gets his shit together one day, he will find the time to test the pillow's cover for any remaining DNA samples. That way he could start comparing them to human ones and take notes. For now though, he sees the pillow as fit to be a comfort item during his 'man baby' moods.

It's a waste of time, lying around and getting more and more frustrated about something he doesn't have and about an intimacy he very well won’t ever see to fruition. He knows that, but he is also quite literally out of options, seeing as his entire world revolved around Zim for so many years that he completely forgot how to live a normal, human life without him. He even began finding ordinary, time-wasting things such as being on his phone or watching cooking shows irritating, matching Zim’s opinions about subjects he previously had nothing to say about. It is pretty clear that the little alien’s world-view is brushing off on him. Which... is not that bad, actually. It makes him feel weirdly warm inside, comfortable, and closer to the one that is making him even crazier than ever before.

Making up his mind, he gets up and starts picking out neat clothes to wear (careful not to overdress for the occasion), filled with new determination. He had his eyes trained on the gift box he readied for Zim on the bed throughout the time it took him to put on one of his many Ghostbusters shirts, black pants and a belt to go with it.

****

In the late afternoon, Dib gathers enough courage to go ahead with his plan. He goes to Zim's house with a gift (a nice turtleneck that he imagined would bring out the beauty of his elegantly thin, long neck), walks up to his porch with caution before he rings the bell like a civilized person. As he waits for a response, there is a surprising lack of angry aliens or creepy robot parents (who by all means shouldn't be needed anymore after high school) answering the door.

Mildly concerned, Dib rings the bell once more, but still does not get a response. He tries the handle and much to his surprise, the door opens effortlessly with a single firm press, creaking loudly.

Since Zim called Earth home for a while, he learned to disguise himself and decorate his home a lot more like an actual human. So when he finds the usually spotless house in ruins, covered with what seems to be claw and bite marks, Dib doesn’t know what to make of it. Zim might be eccentric, to put it mildly, but he isn’t the type of person to live in filth if he has a say about it.

(And in his strange brain he always has a say in everything, even over other people’s lives. You get the point).

He searches the whole house from head to toe, does a double-check of all Zim's usual 'thinking rooms', but doesn't find anything out of the ordinary besides it all being messy and ill-maintained, something that still sits uneasily within Dib's psyche. He returns to the living room to maybe find a secret passage to Zim's true base, that he still didn’t get to experience in its fullest (it is hard to appreciate technological genius while you’re being threatened with spider-like metal legs and being force-fed mutant toads that are leaking disgusting mucus inside of you as punishment for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong), but doesn’t find anything overly obvious of that nature.  
In the middle of the room, however, he finally finds something that might be of some use to him. Or rather, he found _someone_. Gir is just sitting there on the battered couch, watching a bad, brain dead show meant for toddlers who can relate to such a mindless era of existence. It fits Gir perfectly, so that isn’t what makes Dib confused. It is the overall fact that last time Dib checked this largest and most obvious room of the fake house, the tiny robot was not here. Maybe he- she? It? was digging around in the heaps of trash scattered all over the place in search for more junk food it hasn’t already shoved into itself, and because of that, Dib managed to overlook its presence?

"Uh." Dib says intelligently, breaking the silence between them (save for the TV). Dib always prefers to talk when facing the miniature death robot that is (thankfully) only deadly half of the time. If he amuses it, maybe it won't view him as a threat. That's his motto when going for an interaction with it. As per usual, the sound of his voice is enough to get the robot's attention, and Dib watches as its head slowly turns towards him then stops, red eyed.

Dib gulps, feeling sweat steadily dribble out of the pores on the skin of his rather wide forehead. "Hey there buddy, do you know where Zim is?" He watches as Gir blinks a couple of times, its eyes changing through red shades until it settles for a nice, harmless blue. Thank God.

"Master's all scary yellin' in the basement!!!" Came the too loud reply, then the robot hops off the comfort of its master's sofa so it may face Dib as best it can with its outright pathetic height.

Zim did manage to 'fix' Gir’s speech a little to something more understandable. But the robot apparently can't ever be completely fixed. Dib is thankful for that, since he kind of likes the machine the way it is. He dreads to imagine what humanity would do if it were fully functional and on the hunt. Perhaps he can get the information he needs without any unnecessary violence this way.

"Uh huh, I heard Zim hid extra tasty donuts somewhere in the basement so I came to find them. You wouldn't happen to know how to get there would you?" Dib asks in a teasing tone. Using food as a tool to get Gir to cooperate is the best go-to plan when interacting with the broken thing. He speaks out of experience. And just as expected, Gir instantly shoots up, yelling a series of sing-songs about donuts and their marmalade filled goodness while opening up a secret passage to the 'basement', which ended up being an oversized trashcan in the kitchen's corner. Figures that Zim would change the secret entrance to a dirty and unappealing trash chute after the last passage had been discovered by Dib. No one would think a germophobe would resort to such drastic measures. Despite it being oversized compared to an ordinary trashcan, so Zim could slide in there with no problem, Dib's big head barely fit into it. Thankfully the shaft, after passing the metal part of the can shooting downwards into the earth, is a lot wider. Gir chose to travel with him, and Dib couldn't muster up the courage to tell it off out of fear that he might get on its bad side. It seems to currently like him enough to let Dib roam around Zim's base with minimal restrictions and overseeing, which is a big plus.

Down to the impressive Irken technology filled lab/base thingy they go, until they arrive to the center of the complex contraption and the protective door of the travel tube opens to let them explore the insides. Gir jumps out of it first, since it knows it is free to do whatever the hell it wants in its own territory, running around in circles before it sits down like an actual dog at the center of the room.

The second Dib attempts to follow the random path the robot takes, he gets assaulted by high-pitched screeching he didn't think was possible for a living creature to make. He covers his pained ears to protect them from permanent damage, but is pretty sure that they already started bleeding.

"W-what in the actual hell is going on in here?!" He yells out to Gir, hoping that his voice will be heard in the cacophony of the room.

"Master is not feeling well! I already said this, you _silly_ \- oh look-see! A cookie!" Gir exclaims loud enough for Dib to hear before he grabs a (comparatively to Gir’s tiny robot body) giant cookie and mercilessly swallows it whole.  
Dib ignores this, not wanting to be scarred for life by invading thoughts of how a robot might digest food, and instead focuses on figuring out where he is. Right as he tries to pinpoint the location from where the screeching is coming from, all noises come to an abrupt halt.

Slowly, scared shitless by this wholly unexpected turn of events, Dib removes his hands, and mans through the unbearable ringing in his ears for a chance to better concentrate on his surroundings. He steps further in, scanning the floor, the machinery on the walls, the big computer in the center which spoke the last time he was down here if remembers correctly. All in all, it takes him just a couple of minutes until he lays his eyes upon the source of the earlier insufferable noise.

"...Zim?"

The Irken's body twitches at the sound of his voice, but it takes him a bit to pinpoint who is doing the talking. Far too long for his observation skills. Once he does realize who he has to deal with however, the distaste he experiences shows greatly in his expression. "Oh great..." He groans, his voice a lot more raspy and high-pitched than usual, which is really saying something. "Just what Zim needed."

Dib tries not to be too offended by his tone (and the choice of words), as he takes a second to judge what role he plays in this. Zim is curled up on the sheets of his bed, which he undoubtedly built himself (if the insignia on the wooden frame is of any indication). It used to be upstairs in the living room, so Zim must have moved it down here for the same reason he is now splayed out helplessly on it. Dib notes that a pillow from the set is tragically missing, like Zim didn't have the time or simply didn't care to make an another one after Dib stole from the pair he already had.

(Strange that Zim never stole it back now that he thinks about it.)

"Um..." Dib struggles not to laugh from how nervous he is. He has no idea what's going on. "This is really fucking stupid of me to ask- but are you okay? I heard screaming. That uh- _was_ you, wasn't it? Not one of your test subjects?"

Zim glares at him. _Really_ gives him a frightening look. Or at least, Dib thinks he is directing it at him. His pearly eyes are lacking any pupils to help Dib judge whether he truly is looking at him, somewhere on the wall, the ground, or if he is completely blind to the world. "Okay, Jeez, I was just asking." Dib defends, which only serves to irritate Zim further. Even without the expressive nature of human eyes, he somehow manages to look absolutely miserable while struggling to calm his nerves. His skin, which used to be a grassy green is now a sickly, almost glassy emerald. And although Dib and him aren't on the best of terms, and have personally made the other bleed before, the sight of Zim all curled up and pitiful is not exactly pleasant to witness. Especially taking into consideration the strength Zim otherwise has in astounding amounts. Sure, he screams a lot, especially when water is involved, but he never lets himself stay down for long. Dib doesn't dare imagine how painful it must _feel_ if this is bringing him down to the point where he cannot properly lift a finger without trembling like a newborn calf.

Hesitantly, Dib presses the issue. "Do...do you want me to help you out with that?"

Zim's antennae twitch in annoyance, and he moves his mouth as if to say something. To throw a curse on his family name before he dies, most likely. Then shit happens, and those zipper-like teeth move to bite the covers as to muffle any pained cries which threaten to leave him instead. He huffs out a growl, clearly fighting the urge to stand and face the intruder of his secret base even while in such a poor state. Although Dib is slightly amused by his unshakable fighting spirit, Dib fears that Zim will faint if he moves an another muscle much longer. It wouldn't even prove anything--Dib's bleeding ears are proof enough already of his suffering. There is no use hiding something as irrelevant as a couple of moans.

_'Focus'_ Dib thinks to himself, not really knowing what to do to help. Although Zim is silent, his antennae twitch violently up and down, and his spine is constantly arched in an overly exaggerated, painful angle to show that he continues to be in terrible pain as each second passes where Dib does nothing to assist him.

That does it. Dib doesn't care if he will get a couple new scars or lose a limb. He can just get a robotic arm like his dad if it really comes down to it for all he cares. He not-so-calmly walks to the writhing Irken without thinking about his own safety, and climbs on top of the bed so he can scoop him up to his chest. He just hopes that his heartbeat isn't beating too quickly as to give his own state of mind away.   
When Zim bites into Dib's shoulder and the claws on his double-digit, bare feet dig into Dib’s abdomen, the surprise is entirely absent. It was expected that something like that would happen. Dib just grinds his teeth together and lets out pained huffs of air, in return hugging the alien tighter. The adrenaline of the moment helps soothe down the sharpest points of Zim’s teeth at the very least.

They stay like that for a very stressful moment, until thankfully, the invader relaxes his muscles enough for Dib to free himself. Zim's need to kill passes when an another huge shockwave of pain throbs trough his entire body, which makes him whine out as though he had been stabbed. The ungodly screeching of pure, mind-numbing pain reactivates and Dib can't do nothing more than hold Zim trough the torture, confused and scared himself but steady for the both of them.

After what felt like hours of a whole lot of empathy, patience and trashing, Zim's exhausted body finally slumps in Dib's arms. His eyelids flutter half-closed, and his antennae relax behind his rubbery, square head. The only clue that Zim is still alive at all comes in the form of a series of broken, shallow breaths against Dib's warm chest. The moment is gentle in its own way, and Dib is scared to move or do anything other than just hold the broken little person in fear that he will break into pieces from a single shrug of the shoulders.

Strange. Dib never would have thought there would come a day when he would compare a warrior, a terrifying soldier from outer space, to a porcelain doll.

Waiting in utter silence after so much screaming is making Dib feel incredibly uneasy; like waiting next to someone on a death-bed. He glances over Zim's entire empty expression over and over, just so he's sure that Zim's weakened self didn't die while Dib was lost in thought and getting his shit together. Around the twentieth check, Zim's orb like eyes glaze over, losing that shine that express his well-being. Dib panics intensely, only to notice a couple of seconds later that Zim is still breathing. He just fell asleep.

Dib laughs, because of course he fell asleep. The poor guy screamed his tiny lungs out and had been through literal hell probably for _hours_ even before Dib got here. Despite the circumstances, and Dib feeling sad and incredibly worried for his crush, his human brain can't get enough of watching that little chest rising and falling, being safe yet completely defenseless in his arms. All of that means that Dib gets to stay, that he is trusted with Zim's life, and that he will hopefully get some answers once Zim wakes.

Dib reaches out with a hand for the wrinkled blanket in the corner of the bed, making sure to keep a strong yet gentle hold on the shivering body in his embrace as he does his best to cover all of Zim. He feels so cold to the touch, like an ice-cube that is slowly draining heat out of his body. Maybe a part of that is true. Just how reptilian is Zim anyway?

...no, Dib refuses to take advantage in order to get samples. He is way past that phase of his obsession.

(He proceeds to scoop up Zim's tears in a specimen pot he always carries on his person.)

"I don't know if you are listening..." He pauses, long enough for the cold body to tell him wrong, then continues. "Whatever is happening with you, we will see it through. I will be here when you wake up." He pauses again, longer this time. Then he smiles and says, "So you can tell me just how much you don't need my help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon Zim constantly has his eyes open, even when he sleeps. He only closes them during sleep when he feels safe.
> 
> Summary of the chapter: Zim suffers horrible back pains because of unknown reasons and Dib just so happens to find him during the worst of it. Because Zim is too weak to fight Dib off, he was forced to accept his help. Dib is pretty happy about that.
> 
> The next part covers the aftermath.  
> Spoiler: Zim is not going to be thrilled about how things ended last night.


	2. The day after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attempts at bonding have been made.

Zim wakes up first.

His leading instinct is to sit up, open his eyes as wide as he can and wait for an another inevitable shock of pain to fry his spine until he can no longer think for himself. He is entirely unprepared for the headache that drills into his skull as an unwelcomed substitute, and the intensity of it almost makes him drop flat on his back again, but it doesn't quite manage to win against his ridiculously overpowered resolve to stay sitting. His head continues to feel heavy and wrong on his persistent shoulders, swinging side to side, left and right with fatigue, struggling to find any resemblance of balance and peace. A dull, annoying throb deep inside refuses to leave long after the initial wave of horror sees it fit to pass. It serves as a distraction to his advanced senses, so he doesn't immediately notice that he is not alone in his own bed. Until someone beside him shifts to wrap their huge arms around his middle and snuggle closer, protesting with a little noise when they can't find Zim's torso where it should be next to them. Instead, they burrow their nose shamelessly into his hip and continue sleeping, content with what little they managed to get out of the strange position their partner chose to rest in.

  
After the initial disbelief (and slight fear for his safety), Zim never moved so fast in his life to get away from someone. He kicks the person away from him with his left two-toed foot while not paying any attention to his victim's features whatsoever. Everything is foggy and confusing and infuriating right now. He doesn't have time to think, least of all be aware of some random dipshit's looks.

(Not that he ever wasted time on such a pointless practice anyway.)

Before any one of them could blink, Zim is already one leg over the human, turning their body further on their front so he could sit on their back and hopefully choke them to death by shoving their face firmly into the covers. His bed is very soft and gives fairly much against pressure, perfect for snuffing out a life as much as it is perfect for drowning oneself in Cheetos. When the human tries to free themselves from Zim’s grip, trashing helplessly like a burning animal, Zim acknowledges that their free arms are far too long and strong. He won't be able to continue having the upper hand much longer, and is therefore forced to abandon his preferred method of murder. He settles for pulling the human's arms painfully behind their back to the point of almost tearing both limbs clean off with a single strong pull. Zim is positive the strength behind this human's muscles belongs to a male the longer they fight his own, and that is not sexist- just anatomy. The only exception being Dib's creepy sister.

(It still fascinates him how different in build female and males are in this species. Guess the difference came in handy for deduction this time.)

Slowly getting tired of the continuous trashing of his prisoner, Zim prepares to really break his limbs in half; perhaps to even rip them entirely out of their sockets like he previously thought he might accidentally do. But something stops his movement like taking a cog out of a functioning machine. Those muffled, pained protests coming from the tackled human begin to sound way too familiar. During some point of listening closer, the voice clicks and it changes everything. Suddenly Zim remembers exactly why he was sleeping next to a person, why he allowed himself to sleep _at all_ , and why he feels so disoriented. Zim does a double-take just to be sure, leaning close to the human's head in order to better hear even the smallest intake of air and groan of mild suffering while the man bellow him continues to choke, attempting to twist his neck enough to free his nose and take a breath. If Zim doesn't let him go soon, he might actually pass out, and then no one will get any answers.

  
A tense moment of tossing back and forth between violent and less violent options later, Zim leans back, deciding not to end any lives for now. Maybe that choice will be a mistake that will cost him his honor or a cheap punch, maybe two in the near future, but something tells him that he should work with the risk regardless. His eyesight is currently not the best (probably because of the pain medication he took and didn't do shit to help. They are so strong that he still feels its not so desired side-effects), but he could recognize that voice anywhere. "...Dib-stink?" He asks, a healthy dose of hostile mixed in the curious tone of his vocals, just so its clear between them who is in charge.

  
There is a muffled "yes!" That pretty much confirms his suspicions, and more struggling in response. If Zim wasn't sure about who the man under him was before, there is no doubt in Zim's mind about his identity now.

  
Zim briefly fakes indifference, standing his ground while slaughtering precious oxygen flow before it could reach his prey. Then the pressure on Dib's arms momentarily goes slack, giving the boy enough time to lift his head and take a deep, much needed breath of stale underground air. Zim doesn't leave his position on Dib's back, so he still has some kind of leverage in case the ape decides to test his luck in escaping or fighting back.  
A couple of wet gasps later, Dib finds enough strength in his voice to yell, "Holy crap Zim! What in the hell was that for?!" His indignant screech of surprised anger and the familiar silly expression of distaste on his face makes Zim feel slightly better about the embarrassment he had to endure in his presence the evening before.  
"What are you still doing in _my base_?" Zim once again pulls on the abused arms, further straining the joints against each respective socket, threatening with a promise of some serious damage if Dib doesn't give an adequate response. The human lets out yet another cry of distress, begging him to "S-stoP!", steadily reaching his pain tolerance limit.  
The Irken growls, clearly pissed at not being given a direct answer to his fairly reasonable, direct question, and continues to yank Dib's arms further back, until-  
" _Shit!_ " Dib screams out, but tries not to move around too much as to not accidentally add to the possibility of permanently losing his arms. "I- is this the thanks I get for helping you out?!" He is getting increasingly restless, and therefore less careful about the choice of his words in the alien's presence. It certainly makes Zim stop and stare at Dib as if he is the odd-one-out in any case. "What are you blabbering on about pathetic Earth-monkey?! You did no such thing!"

"Yes I-" Dib shuts his mouth, giving up on whatever shred of pride he had left. He inhales and exhales a couple of times while sweat runs unbroken down his forehead. "Just-" In the last second, he decides against saying something he might regret and tries to formulate his words with the least amount of aggression he can currently muster. "Can you stop trying to kill me so we can talk like adults for _one peaceful second_?" He tries to reason with his enemy. Frenemy? Just a friend? Neither of them really know the current status of their relationship.

Zim raises a single brow, genuinely considering, which is met by a very nervous look from Dib. Hopeful, scared... slightly excited? Good to know he remained an adrenaline junkie.  
As his last resort, Dib adds a pathetic-sounding, high-pitched, "...please?", knowing for a fact that the Irken, no matter how tiny and harmless he may seem on the outside, is perfectly capable of ripping limbs straight off much bigger and meaner prey without so much as breaking a sweat.  
Zim gives him a long, hard stare, clearly thinking about something that isn't meant to be shared. But whatever it was about, he makes up his mind about it fairly quickly and lets Dib's poor arms go. He climbs off his back soon afterwards, and Dib cannot possibly express how grateful he is to keep every part of himself intact.  
Even so, shit hurts, so the first thing he does is hiss in pain and roll on his back while clenching at his shoulders to see if they are truly still attached. It sure as hell feels like they aren't; or more pointedly, doesn't feel them at all. He very slowly sits up and carefully rolls back both of his shoulders to test if they are still functional. Thankfully, they only seem to be sprained.

"...You're such an asshole" Dib says with an air of finality, breaking the uncomfortable silence during which Zim only kept staring, making no move to apologize. At the insult, the Irken calmly pulls back his hand that's squeezed into a fist and swings a punch straight into Dib's right shoulder, making the abused dude regret his recent life decisions. "Ah fuck!"

  
"Stop spitting out filth, you filthy filth-...thing!" Zim spits at the groaning adult, that is currently busy with squeezing his eyes shut to internally battle with his overwhelmed body and how he responds to the stimuli. While Zim waits for the idiot to recover, which is fairly fucking generous of him to do, he meekly asks, "Did you feel that punch?" in his own way showing concern.  
Dib huffs, backing away a bit from Zim's danger zone just to be sure that he won't get easily struck again if the little guy decides one punch wasn’t enough. "Yes _Zim_ , I felt it plenty."

Zim watches the pain on Dib's face evolve to higher levels, then return to lower ones thoughtfully, nodding like he doesn't care either way. But Dib thinks he can make out something akin to relief in Zim's vague face muscles. His antennae are really the most expressive part of his overall anatomy, since the rest of his body portrays random and extreme reactions while feeling completely ordinary emotions, then expresses microscopic changes when it feels something life-changing happening to it. Dib releases the painful bits of his body now that he is beginning to get some feeling back into them, no longer afraid that they are going to fall off. Casual as can be, he asks, "And you? How are you feeling?"

Zim blinks, but not because that is strictly necessary for him to do. Dib never once saw the alien’s eyes dry out. Apparently, he was not expecting Dib to bother with such a question, or he is simply at a loss of an answer. That's understandable; Dib thinks yesterday was the first time he had truly felt concerned for Zim's overall well-being. And taking into consideration their past world-ending death battles, that really says a lot.

"You know; you can say that you are not feeling too great. Everyone has their bad days." Dib tries to reassure him, and maybe trick him a little into opening up about whatever the hell had caused this whole mess. But he is cut short by Zim's drastic change of mood. His expression twists and his dangerous teeth show in the form of an ugly frown. Dib begins to pale well before Zim closes in, white as a ghost by the end of his advancement. That huge mouth is so close to his face that Dib can feel Zim's odd breath on his colorless cheeks. The fear he feels from such a close proximity alone is inexpressible. All he can do is focus feverishly on what Zim is saying and hope that he accepts a truce as one of the options in his homicidal mind. "That was not simply a 'bad day', _Dib_." There is an edge to Zim's tone that is sharp enough to cut. "It was a PAK malfunction, and it was _serious_."

Dib nods quickly, new sweat forming on his forehead as his trembling arms work overtime to keep his body from falling over.

"Don't you ever dare think that Zim would show such weakness if what he was enduring was anything but pure mind-frying _torture_."

Oh, well that's...  
"Are you dying?" Dib asks, surprising himself with how abrupt that question was, and how his voice didn't shake while asking it.

"What?" Zim balks, his entire dangerous image falling apart in his surprise. "...no! Zim is not _dying_ -"

"But you were screaming like something had been trying to claw out of you." The panic-fueled train of thought inside of Dib's head speeds off the rails and he cannot stop the flow of words that tumble out of it. Assumptions, fears, doubts, the feeling of pure dread from all of the brief, yet graphic memories. All of them combine into something unrelated to reason. "You twisted your spine so hard that I thought it would snap in half."

"Psh..." Zim looks away, his orb-shaped eyes never truly ceasing to see everything around him even while not facing the person of interest. He feels awfully self-conscious and defensive, made apparent by the angle of his antennae and the tightness in his grin. "That had barely a ten-percent chance of actually happening."

“excuse me- WHAT?!" Dib asks, outraged.

"What?! What did I say?!" Zim asks, alarmed and confused and a tad bit nervous.

"Zim! Do you have any idea how terrible that is?!" Dib asks, serious and honestly kind of pissed off that Zim is brushing this under the rug with all of his usual bullshit. He knows that Zim's definition of serious is only used when he would otherwise be portrayed as weak, and not because he almost got himself killed. Dib failed to realize how much last day's ordeal fucked him up until Zim started acting more like himself again.  
Speaking of the devil, Zim turns his head to face him again, looking about ready to take control of the situation again. "Your grotesquely large head is thinking too much on this! Zim is completely fine!" He defends, still showing teeth and an attitude like those are the only shields he owns that he can put in front of his fragile ego for protection.

Dib scoffs. "Oh yeah?" When Zim nods, he adds, "Then try standing up."

And just like that, there is not an another word from Zim. He glares poisoned daggers at Dib's stupid, stubborn face and mulls over if he should or shouldn't start a fight while he is in the sad shape he is. Dib shifts on the bed, never breaking eye contact while he makes himself comfortable, raises a brow and waits for Zim to prove his point.

Grudgingly, while mumbling Irken curse words passionately under his (fairly loud) breath, Zim feels enough embarrassment to succumb to the challenge and slides gracefully off the bed. He had to briefly turn his back to Dib so he could plant his feet firmly on the ground and rise. Following every inch of Zim's body, Dib couldn’t help but notice how exposing such a vulnerability sat uncomfortable within the little guy's psyche. Now that he is up on his own feet, his legs wobble dangerously, barely doing their job to keep him standing. In the end, he had to grip the bed, twisting in angles that are beyond gymnastic in order to not lose balance. It makes Dib wonder how his spine (if it is even bone) can bend so much without at the very least fracturing. While he is getting slightly concerned about Zim's increasing chance of falling and stupidly hurting himself, he is also sadistically pleased to be proven right. He has to take victories where he can get them.

"What's wrong Zim?" Dib teases with a winner's smirk. "Can it be that you are, in fact, _not_ doing fine?"

"Fuck you." Came the hilarious high-pitched comment which makes Dib burst out laughing. It's a healthy laugh, but the difference doesn't seem to matter much to Zim. "This is not funny!" Zim yells, his tiny fists shaking with the need to throw a couple more punches at that stupid, wide grin on Dib's face. After a bit, the human wipes away a single tear, formed at the expense of his brief laughing fit. He says, "I'm sorry, you're right. It wasn't that funny."

"Nothing about this is funny _at all_!!!" Zim yells even louder, as if a change in volume will somehow assist to convey his point. By doing so he exerts himself, and his knees buckle briefly like they are going to crumble. It spooks Dib into raising both hands, palms open on each side of his head as a sign of peace and to have the upper hand in catching Zim should he fall. "You’re absolutely right, your excellency. I crossed the line. Could you please sit down before you hurt yourself?"

"..." Zim stubbornly keeps standing for a while longer, probably because he does not want Dib to think for one second that a Invader would ever stoop so low as to follow his orders. He then determines it safe to sit on the bed because that was his idea, thank you very much, and no one else's. The grump is strong in this one. "Addressing me correctly suits you." Zim says, getting the obligatory last word in. Dib can't help but chuckle at the hot-headed energy Zim expels even while being in no position to demean a person three times his size. That overconfidence is always fun to witness.

The moment for laughs passes however, and questions that were breeding inside Dib's head since yesterday resurface like the fin of a great white breaking through the water. The room falls silent save for a couple of distant beeps and the equally distant clanking of tiny robotic feet hitting the flooring. A lot softer than he meant to sound, Dib asks, "What the hell is going on Zim...?" It is about time to get some real answers out of this confusing mess.

The alien's antennae shift outward, then lower as far as they possibly can. "...if Zim knew, our horrid encounter earlier would not have happened."

Dib searches Zim's face for any sign of a lie, but it is really difficult to tell either way. "You have to know something."

Zim tsks, crossing his arms. "I guess this has been going on for a while."

" _What_ , Zim? What has been going o-"

"I don't know!" Zim intercepts, refusing to listen. "And what are you trying to get out of this?!"

Dib sharply inhales some breath, struggling not to scream his lungs out at the dumbass who is failing to see the obvious. _'I am worried for you, asshole'_ is what he wanted to say, but instead says, "I just want to know if I can help."  
Surprise, after surprise, after a giant bomb of revelations, and there is still no end to this increasingly confusing road in sight. Zim does not know how many more out of the blue confessions and emotional availability he can take. "Your help is not needed. Zim is perfectly capable of dealing with this on his own."

Out of all the things he expected Dib to do, to feel, to express after that refusal, he absolutely did not expect for him to look genuinely hurt by the words. "…I thought we were friends."

Zim once again balks. "Zim doesn't-"

"Friends help each other." Dib intervenes, sparing Zim the painful process of deciphering the meaning behind his words without assistance. "I know that all of this doesn't sound like me, but I do not actually want to get anything out of meddling with your business for once." He chooses to approach this with a bit more tact. "I just want to understand you."

Zim believes that with a healthy dose of skepticism. Which is understandable, considering a good chunk of those words were a whole bag of lies that had just been tossed at him. But such apparent attempt to slide under his skin was to be expected, and it doesn't make Zim feel particularly upset. It is Dib reaching out to cup one of his gloved hands in both of his own that makes Zim's skin prickle uncomfortably. Dib however, seems to be ecstatic. "Maybe I can be of some use to you." He says, with a lowkey seductive undertone to his smile.

Zim stares, fighting back the rising bile in his throat, and yanks his hand out of Dib's loose grip. He hisses; "Try something like that again and we will see which one of us is going to be needing help."  
Dib pauses a second, letting the heaviness of the threat in those words settle, then slowly moves his hand to the safety of his lap. "Alright."

Zim watches Dib to see if he is going to make an another move to touch him. Then, when he doesn't move a finger, takes off the glove Dib sullied with his gross skin oil and tosses it aside to be thoroughly disinfected and/or burned later. Casually he says, "My PAK is in disrepair."

Dib perks up at that, suddenly on high alert so he may absorb anything Zim chooses to share. Zim notices, and is mildly concerned about his eagerness, but decides not to comment on it. "... that is typically not a big issue on its own, since Invaders just have to report the malfunctions to operators and they will send us for reconditioning directly to the control brains." He explains, satisfied that Dib seems to understand what he is saying, judging by the nod he gives every once in a while. For a human, he figures out terms beyond his limited brain capabilities fairly well.  
"But, seeing as I have lost contact with the Armada and I do not own qualified enough equipment to do the repairs by myself..."

Dib's eyes widen briefly in realization, then forces his muscles to relax again. "Your condition is a lot more severe."  
Zim nods. "Right. But I never thought it would get to this level of bad."

Dib shifts awkwardly. "Isn't there a way for you to... I don't know, replace it?"

"HAH!" Zim grins. "With what?!"

Dib blushes. "At least I'm trying to think of something!"

Zim laughs, and once he stops, continues to have that expression which compliments his superiority complex perfectly. "A PAK is the absolute epiphany of Irken technology. It is a device that cheats death itself, and you want me to replace it?"

"Shut up." Dib says, embarrassed.

"What's the matter Dib? Are you perhaps not feeling fine?"

"...point taken." Dib says, then nods vaguely to the general area where Zim's PAK should be if Zim turned around. "So what are you going to do about that little tumor? You're just going to retreat to this insanely comfortable bed whenever the pain starts and wait it out?"

"That is the general plan, yes." Zim says, sounding like he is in a much better mood after he had his little revenge. "Took you long enough to figure out."

"That's probably because what you call a plan doesn't sound like one at all to me." Dib retorts, thinking hard about what could be done about this. "It sounds more along the lines of giving up."

"There's no use moping about the endless, not so pretty possibilities. Zim already told you that he does not have the right equipment and no contact with people who do." He defends. "What do you expect Zim to do? Pray moronically to your invisible ruler in the skies to take pity on me?"

"To keep trying." Dib's smile is dangerously soft and fond as he says this. "Like you always do."

Zim stares, his eyes doing a weird twitch like they wanted to express something equally fond but were mercilessly stopped in doing so. "Has the Dib watched one too many romantic comedies on the tee-vee?"

Dib decides to ignore that, storing it into his spank-bank for later. "I was trying to be nice, you ass." Long legs move to the side so Dib can stand up and stretch. "Hhh..." He exhales once he hears a couple of joints pop back into place. "Want some tea with ridiculous amounts of honey?"

"Feeling the need to ask me that proves how inferior you are." Zim says, blunt like a club that Dib metaphorically felt hit him over the head.  
Dib lets his stretched out arms drop like noodles at his sides while looking down at Zim's victorious grin. "Remind me why I volunteer to do anything for you again?"

"Because you are blinded by Zim's greatness and are compelled to serve him." He smirks. In some mysterious way his posture remains almost regal even in his laziness. Dib, once again, decides to ignore the alien for now (lest he get pulled into the vortex of borderline unhealthy fantasies), and says, "You better still be here when I get back." before he leaves for the elevation tube that is on the other end of the base. He feels Zim's stare on his back for a while, and it only goes away once Zim becomes hidden by the walls.

On his way to the exit, Dib sees GIR do a series of strange experiments which involve baking things with laser guns and explosives. It was smart of Zim to build a see-through indestructible cube where GIR is allowed to commit such atrocities without bringing calamity to the world above. Though how he taught that dense hunk of metal to follow rules makes him highly curious.

 _'Guess everything can happen in due time.'_ Dib concludes, shrugging his shoulders at the randomness that is his life before he walks into the transportation tube. Turns out that you don't need to type in commands or tell it where to go and it just shoots you up or down the moment you stand on its (intelligent?) platform. From a technical standpoint, the logic behind how it works makes no sense (he doesn't see any visual sensors, and judging by a box of foods that is in the elevator to be moved later, it doesn't react to weight either); until Dib remembers that Zim owns a computer which showed complex thought and maybe even emotions the small number of times Dib got to hear it speak. Literally anything is possible, and maybe that exact computer is in charge of controlling this platform.

Deciding to chance it, Dib looks somewhere up towards the ceiling. "Is this like one of those sci-fi movie tropes where you can talk to me through walls, AI?"

.

.

.

Silence.

"Huh, guess not." Dib says, not knowing why he sounds so disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will add warnings in the tags as the chapters publish because boy, it is soon-ish going to need those.
> 
> Just to prepare you guys- this series is not meant to be feel-good forever. Some fucked up stuff will happen eventually and I will update the series accordingly.


	3. Called it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it takes a bullet to make a point.

Once he gets to the kitchen, the search for anything edible is on. While he figures GIR to be the one who mans the food in this household, Dib is convinced tea is not touched by its grabby little hands. And sure enough, he finds plenty of packages untouched ever since he had gifted them for one of Zim's fake birthdays. It was probably too optimistic of a thought that Zim would take enjoyment out of any hot beverage once in a while, now that Dib thinks about it. For some reason he only has a thing for soda and grease out of everything Earth has to offer in terms of taste.

Dib does not waste any time considering his options and simply grabs the first sort of tea he sees, then in the somewhat eerie silence of the room sets a bit of water to boil. A tea bag gets gently dipped into a cup, and shortly after, the newly steaming water gets poured inside. He proceeds to add copious amounts of honey as well. While Dib leaves the tea to cool down a bit, the idea to clean the worst of the mess in the living room comes to mind, but looking more closely at the towers of trash in two particularly dark corners prompts him to change his mind. Who knows what horrors are buried in there just waiting to be unearthed by someone stupid enough to give up on resisting its smelly invitation? He might be a reckless lunatic, sure, but he is not _that_ adventurous. With wisdom he otherwise does not posses, Dib decides to leave the cleaning to GIR if it ever decides to become a maid amongst all the other things in its program.

Anyhow, during the time he was lost in thought the tea had already cooled down enough to be drinkable, and so he takes the pleasantly warm cup of tea back underground. While he rides the elevator into the depths, he remembers the first time he had used this method of transportation in the house on complete accident. He also remembers in clear detail the fear and anxiety dripping down his forehead and moisturizing the back of his neck during the ride down. There is no sign of such bodily reactions now. In fact, he almost experiences the bizarre air of being close to Zim's existence on this planet as comforting nowadays. Although he had only been down there a handful of times, alien technology no longer feels like a threat to his species' survival. That must be a good sign, right? There exists no existential fear, fear of imminent death, of destruction and so on. It is the starting proof of a present trust in their relationship.

Dib takes a peek around the corner where he had seen GIR 'cook' before and sees the broken thing sleeping on the ground. The question of how a robot has the ability to sleep does rise in his head, but the mechanic of it is too confusing to be given an answer with his current understanding of the universe. Dib wisely pushes anything regarding GIR to the far back of his subconscious, then searches the area for Zim. He finds him laying down on the bed and staring at the ceiling in practically the same spot he left him in. He still looks the shittiest Dib had ever seen him, but definitely less like he is going to spontaneously combust in epic flames and die writhing like a bug. Small mercies.

"Hope black tea works for you." The bed creaks as Dib sits on the edge of it, and it signals Zim to shift so he could take the offered earthly drink from the human's hands. However enticing the smell of it might be, Zim doesn't immediately take it, internally denying the need to accept help from his mortal enemy. After Dib gives him a look of _'are you serious?',_ Zim forces himself to get past his doubt with only one stronger wince at the resulting pain from moving around too much. That is when Dib realizes Zim's whole body must be hurting, not just his spine. That would explain why he is even more pissy than usual.

A shaky hand grasps the cup of tea firmly enough to convince Dib to let it hold the item on its own. Zim's other hand joins the first to apply a safer hold immediately after Dib lets his hold on it go. The tea is sipped at by a bizarrely thin and lipless mouth, and it twitches slightly downwards at the taste. After a moment of consideration, Zim says, "...it's...tolerable..."

No matter the undertone of distaste, Dib smiles like no one could have given him a nicer compliment. "It would not kill you to make yourself the same blend time to time. Tea is good for you."

Zim looks up at him, frowns, then looks away, sipping more tea while trying to make himself seem like he is not enjoying the hell out of it. Dib feels warmth blossom inside his ribcage at the sight, internally pleased with himself.  
Right after Dib finds a comfortable position to be sitting in, he also discovers enough willpower to ask, "How long do you have until an another one of those episodes happen again?"

Zim looks at him weird, like he is not sure what Dib means at first, then twitches his antennae high into the air once he realizes what he asked. "You mean, when my PAK is going to malfunction?" Dib pauses, since he is not sure if that is _all_ that is wrong with Zim's body right now, then slowly nods. "I guess, yeah."

Zim gives him a straight, monotone answer. "I don't know. It happens at rather odd intervals. This was the first painful shock this month, for example. Though... it was the strongest one yet-"

This might be off-topic, but Dib cannot begin to express how nice it feels to finally understand Zim speak, now that he had learned all of Earth concepts of time and word-plays by heart. "That's good, right? I thought those happened more often."

"You can skip the whole caring act Dib-stink." Says Zim while he continues sucking heat out of the cup in his hands like a sunbathing snake. "Shut up and listen."

Dib shuts up and listens.

"I was thinking about what you said earlier, about there being a way to rid me of this burden..." Zim pauses, choosing his words carefully. "I think that you finally said something smart for once."

"So there is a way to fix it?" Asks Dib, excited. Zim immediately snuffs out that hopeful flame by saying, "No, but there might be a way to slow down or weaken the symptoms."

"That's..." Dib tries to stay optimistic, but it's impossible to keep the disappointment from showing on his face, his voice, his everything. "...something. We can start there and maybe find a way to resolve this for good."

Zim doesn't say anything to that, keeping his stare on the steam which escapes in fluid waves out of its porcelain prison in his hands. He is thinking hard these days, for better or worse Dib is not yet sure. Right as he was about to ask more questions, GIR interrupts in a characteristically loud fashion, sending furniture flying while propelling himself through the air with his rocket legs. He lands perfectly at Zim's side, somehow not burning the bed in the process. "Master!" He yells, making Zim's antennae vibrate like the sound physically grabbed them and started violently shaking them.

"GIR!" Zim growls. "Do you want your master to go deaf?!"

"Mmmmnooooo." Gir outright howls, making Zim cover his antennae in an attempt to hear less of that absolute torture machine of a voice. "I'm here to tell master that I made extra tasty Pierogi!"

"We are kind of in the middle of something." Dib steps in, trying to keep his voice gentle as to not make GIR think of him as a threat (but he is starting to think GIR probably sees him as a guest right about now). The robot looks at him briefly, then completely ignores him as he starts pulling at Zim's arm despite his master showing visible pain from getting jostled around. It yells, "It's eating time!!!"  
Zim snaps, "Ugh! Then bring it here you moron!", then rips his arm out of GIR's grip.

"But master said we's not allowed to eat in bed..." GIR whines, somehow showing tearful eyes (Dib is not even going to try to explain anymore) to convince Zim into going along with his request.  
Man, this robot really wants someone to appreciate his Pierogi. Dib finds the behavior weirdly endearing. Then an idea crosses his mind that just might work.

Zim's eyes glisten as they probably see a chance in Dib's mood. He immediately loses his anger and replaces it with wariness. "What's that face supposed to mean?" He asks, already looking squeamish.

"How about I carry you to the kitchen?" Dib throws the idea out there, smiling in exactly the friendly nature that does not suit him. It makes Zim turning him down that much more imminent, but GIR saves the situation in his own unique way. He presents an ultimatum by continuing to scream and cry in Zim's ears until he eventually concedes to be humiliated even further by his only tolerable human.

" _Fine!_ " says Zim, grinding the words through his teeth like he wants to turn them to dust before they leave his mouth and ruin everything that he still has going for him in terms of self-image. Good thing Dib has excellent hearing, and so he hears the confirmation loud and clear. He eagerly reaches out to cradle Zim in his arms bridal style, which doesn't take a lot of effort considering Zim's light weighted body. The prominence of his muscles is undoubtedly there to warn Dib just how little his limited pounds affect what is most important. They are able to be felt in excruciatingly hot detail through the peculiar cloth covering his equally peculiar body, which will surely fuel Dib's fantasies for years to come should he not succeed in his planned courtship and eventual intimacy. Zim doesn't seem overly bothered by Dib's touching at first (they have felt each other up after fights in the name of not dying plenty of times before), but he does give Dib the stink eye at the convenient placement of a hand near his ass. As soon as his stare is noticed, the hand casually shifts farther away from its prize, though the need to touch where it ought not to remains strong.

"Just refrain from doing anything that will make me accidentally drop you." says Dib as he turns. Zim sticks out his tongue in a mocking gesture, intending to do exactly opposite than what he was asked and say 'I will make this walk a living hell for you'. Sadly, his plans were ruined when Dib began to walk right then and there, and the motion which came with the steps jostled Zim enough to make him grab at Dib's shirt so he doesn't lose balance, all words and other thoughts forgotten immediately. Dib looks at the terrified face belonging to a startled kitten rather than a merciless war criminal and laughs at the irony. Zim's hard stare is significantly more honest in its hate than before as he looks at the insulting human, although the slight twitch of his non-existent lips betrays his glee of not being dropped like he had feared he might be.

GIR follows after them like one of those extremely buff-looking but stupid guard dogs, staying at their back on instinct while not actually paying attention to their surroundings. Dib sure hopes Zim's experiments are safely locked behind a bullet-proof layer or two and that GIR's defensive behavior is strictly programmed. That said, their walk ends up being pleasant, especially after Zim calmed down enough to not radiate killing intent like a furnace. Dib got to learn the set-up of the rooms quite well after going through them a couple of times already, and so they arrive to the elevator tube, up to the surface and get into the kitchen on a short notice. Zim only had to tell him in an angry snap to go the other way twice down there, which Dib would call a victory. Meanwhile, during the time it took to get upstairs, Dib tried not to squeal at the adorable sight of Zim looking downwards, obviously gaping at how far away from the ground he is in Dib's arms. Considering his species' ridiculous power play on height alone, this is probably the little guy's wet dream come true. Maybe carrying Zim will prove a more frequent activity in the future after he had this life-changing experience. A man could only hope that to be the case, anyway.

In the kitchen, the table is already made and the servings of Pierogi look fresh on their respective plates. GIR hurries Dib towards it, where Zim gets placed on his seat with loving care. The alien tries not to show how much such gentleness means to him in these trying times, and masks it semi-successfully with a frown and a cold stare. Dib pays the faked hostility no mind while taking his own seat, confounded by the delicious-looking exterior of the food. Remembering the way GIR had prepared it (by burning it with lasers or by the use of strange explosives), he had expected to get charcoal on his plate. Instead... "It looks good?"

Zim nods in agreement. "Gir might be horrible at everything, but cooking is a rare exception." He says as he takes the pierogi in hand, not bothering with the offered fork and knife on either side of his plate. "Your inferior stomach acid should have a blast with the food." He reassures while biting half of the meal clean off. His teeth move like a saw left and right beforehand, making a clean, horizontal cut right in the middle. It fascinates Dib like everything else about the alien, and so he stares a bit too long at how he swallows down such large chunks so efficiently. After a bit, he focuses his gaze on his own meal. While Zim sucks the sauce off his fingers, he trains his eyes on Dib's experienced digits controlling the fork and knife to eat without making a mess of himself. Zim cares about hygiene, but it is in his genes to stuff his face without any thought about manners. Watching the way humans complicate such a simple thing as getting nutrients into their systems is pure comedy to his eyes. Genuinely curious, he asks, "How is it?"

Dib swallows the piece he chewed in his mouth when Zim asked his question before he replies, "Weirdly good." His eyes seem to sparkle the longer he concentrates on the rich taste. "Scratch that- it tastes *amazing*. Where did you learn how to cook like this?" He turns his head to the robot when asking this, although Zim still seems to regard that as a question directed at him. He rolls his eyes. "Please, he doesn't *learn* anything. He just copies-"

"By watching TV!!! Cooking shows are the best!" GIR yells, beyond excited to be asked a direct question for once. Zim gives him a glare for interrupting his explanation, but doesn't disprove what had been said.

"If you like that sort of thing, maybe." Dib agrees, trying to sound neutral so he doesn't piss Zim off. To his surprise, Zim doesn't look angry with GIR at all. Dib remembers how he used to kick the tiny robot around like a bottle made out of cheap plastic whenever he tried to voice his own opinion in any situation in the past. Now their bond seems to belong in the teacher and student category, though it is not always clear which one of them is the teacher and which one the student. It would seem that GIR understands people and their behavioral patterns far better than its master, but Zim comes off as overall more intelligent.

Zim interrupts his internal revelations by asking, "By the way, shouldn't you be at work?"

He is not sure if the sound is in his imagination or if vandals are in the neighborhood, but Dib hears glass shatter the second Zim mentions the glaring mistake he made by staying overnight which he failed to notice before. "Shit."

Zim's left antennae twitches before Dib's phone even begins ringing. The nervous energy inside of Dib's body quickly transforms into pure fear, because of course the phone call would happen right after things clicked. Zim is obviously expecting Dib to face his responsibility while he himself proceeds to enjoy finishing his second serving of food, but Dib's hands do not move an inch.

After the fourth ring, Zim stops in the middle of taking an another bite to ask, "Aren't you going to pick that up?"

Dib immediately shakes his head. "Trust me, it's better if dad thinks I'm dead."

Zim gives him a look. There are quite a number of looks being given today. That does not, however, affect the look's effectiveness at all.  
Just as Dib was about to fold, the call ends. He looks up from the phone's black screen at Zim and shrugs, smiling sheepishly. He figured the doc must have given up on the hope that his son would ever pick up the phone when he actually needs to. Or so he had thought. In the next second there is the distinct feeling in his bones of an approaching storm in the distance, getting closer and closer, heading *directly* at them. Zim is on his feet before Dib even begins to question what might be making such a calamity to the point where not only the paranoid one of the group would react to it. By the time he realizes what is happening, it is already too late. A giant missile fires through the kitchen's window, bringing a huge gust of wind with it. But before it shoots Dib dead, it stops barely a safe distance away as if frozen in time and space.

Zim has two choices presented to him: run away or attempt to get rid of the threat. GIR on the other hand does not seem to be plagued by a similar dilemma, and is instead focused entirely on shoving the remains of the Pierogi into the opening on the top of its head. Perhaps that also works as its mouth. Zim ends up not deciding on either of his options, since curiosity takes over the second he sees the missile reconstruct itself into a high-tech screen floating in front of Dib's large head. The screen blinks to life, showing a live feed of doctor Membrane in the middle of tinkering with something that is currently out of view. Maybe an ongoing project? That would explain why he would try to hide the progress he is making from a stranger's view, should the need arise in someone's mind to steal the idea for themselves. While the screen is stunning in its design and technological achievement, Dib got the worst of it by being too close to the screen once it opened up. He wisely jerks away a little, blinking a couple of times to readjust his eyes, hurting from the brief time they had been glued to the overly bright screen.

His father is being filmed in the lab, the video showing live on the floating screen. It seems as though he is doing important work, and so Membrane does not waste any time with introductions, getting straight to the point the second he comes to the realization that he is susceptible to being heard.  
"You better offer me a good explanation for your repeated negligence, son. Science does not take kindly to inaccuracies."

Stunned from everything that went down in the past miraculously stressful minute, Dib takes a moment longer than he usually would to recover. If Membrane notices the shaken nature his son is in or the rage Zim shows in an abundance on his face on behalf of his destroyed home, he does nothing to show that he cares. He says, "I'm waiting." and drags out the last 'i' in a ridiculous sing-song, upbeat tune.

"It's..." Dib trails off as he looks over at Zim. Zim looks right back at him. He does *not* look happy. Best if Dib gets rid of his dad quickly if he does not want an another attempt of mass genocide to befall his species. "...hard to explain."

Membrane looks up from whatever he is working on to study his son's nervous expression. Dib wisely chooses to explain further as to why exactly he chose to actively waste precious time of the most important person in the world. "The truth is that I have not had a break from work in a long time. Out of my own volition because I love my job, that much is true, but as it just so happens I have found something that deserves my time and energy after all these years of focusing on bettering your work by your side and I-"

"So you forgot about coming to work because you want to spend time with your exceptionally strange friend?" Membrane asks with an air of a complete know-it-all.

Dib didn't even realize he wasn't breathing throughout that entire monologue until his dad decided to stop him. "Yes." He says after taking a breath, glad that his father is not an idiot like most people and understood perfectly what he wanted to convey.

Doctor Membrane seems to think about his approach for what must have been merely a couple of seconds, although the amount of processed information in that short amount of time could probably rival that of a super computer. Then, satisfied with whatever choice he went with, he turns his attention down to the unseen table in front of him and proceeds to tinker fluidly with his project while talking. If only Dib himself was halfway as adept at multitasking. "You are allowed a week to attend to your sick friend." Zim startles at the casually thrown adjective, as if he doesn't look like shit and even his braindead neighbors would see something is up. "But you are going to work overtime for a week after that. You chose to have a break at the most inconvenient of times, considering what I wanted you to work on."

Dib listens to every single word his dad says to him like his life depends on remembering them, feeling relief and giddiness flow through his bloodstream in place of the earlier adrenaline at the mention of some time off. He waits for more to be said, but it quickly becomes clear that Membrane thoroughly dismissed him and simply forgot to turn off the camera. With a soft smile Dib says, "Thanks dad." standing by his gratitude with honesty. Membrane briefly looks at him, nods, then turns off the screen with the click of a button on the glove-like controller he always wears on his wrist. The screen folds in on itself into a missile again, turns one-eighty degrees, and shoots at the general direction of the lab through town. Zim and Dib watch it go into the distance and disappear behind buildings. They look at each other and spend a moment to piece together what they would like to say.

Zim speaks up first, not looking impressed. "You could have picked up the phone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might make the chapters a bit more slow-paced than I initially planned. A lot more domestic for sure, but no less weird than before.


End file.
